


Different

by ClownfuckinAround



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Oneshot, Pennywise (IT) Being an Asshole, Possessive Pennywise (IT), Romance, Self-Indulgent, Yandere Pennywise, a little on the shorter side but not bad considering i whipped it up in a few hours, ch-ch-check it out ive got a sweet little ditty for y'all, ive got something a little bigger in the works rn but i figured i was about due for another oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:08:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22695295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClownfuckinAround/pseuds/ClownfuckinAround
Summary: 𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘥𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘗𝘦𝘯𝘯𝘺𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘦𝘭 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘏𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘱𝘶𝘴𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥. 𝘏𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦, 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘶𝘭𝘬. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭, 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘭, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘵. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘶𝘱 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦.Pennywise is furious that a hunt didn't go as planned, and now he has his sights set on you.
Relationships: Pennywise (IT) & Original Female Character(s), Pennywise (IT)/Reader
Comments: 9
Kudos: 112





	Different

That day, he was angry. It was true, it didn’t take much to invoke the ire of the eldritch clown, but today was different. He had picked the perfect victim, had salted them up with such tantalizing fear; he was so mouth-wateringly close to making his kill, and the child had gotten away. He huffs in petulant frustration as he lurks beneath Derry’s muck-infested tunnelways, plotting and pondering his next logical step. He had to eat; it was a nagging, persistent, aching feeling that ate at his insides and gnawed at his otherworldly psyche. He was much a creature driven by raw and primal need, be that his urge to feed or his vicious predilections when it came to you. You were… Something of an anomaly to Pennywise. An outlier; a toy, a trinket of sorts. Truth be told, it was the only way he would allow your continued existence at all. Pennywise was a beast of merciless temper, with a very ingrained perception of the plane in which he existed. Humans were nothing more than fodder for his ancient palate, fruit from an endless tree in which he could pluck at his own indolent leisure. But despite such unforgiving sentiment, you were different. As long as you served your purpose, distinct and unique from the rest of them, he was content to leave you be.

Sometimes he would get angry with you too. Those days were the most terrifying. You were all too aware of the potential of him, of a monster whose primary driving force was hunger. You knew what deadly promises lie in wait behind sweet, loving words or thinly veiled threats delivered with the most saccharine of smiles. Pennywise was a master of using anticipation to his advantage; harnessing those critical moments of cold terror right before rearing his head back and taking his prize as he had done so many times before. And he used it on you too. It was his favorite way to make you squirm, stalking you like prey and backing you into a corner before taking you as he always did. And the taste of your fear mingled so deliciously with your pleasure; it was a taste so incomparable and so _different_ that he would be a fool simply to deny it.

Despite his rough treatment, however, you never failed to come crawling back for more. As morbid as it sounded when spoken aloud, you couldn’t deny that belonging to such a powerful creature invoked a sense of purpose in you. And as time went on, as the visits continued, as Pennywise regularly stole you away to the sewers below for nights of perversion and debauchery, you became attached to him too. You started to develop feelings for him. It had started with an infatuation of sorts and slowly developed into something more real. Now you had simply adored him, could find no faults in him no matter how you tried. This was mostly fed by Pennywise himself, who could sense within you the potential for loyalty the likes of which no other human could ever hope to fulfill.

He could be positively sweet with you. There were nights, even some in regular succession, in which he wasn’t rough with you at all. He would get in moods, or he could sense yours; could sense how you longed to be held and favored with gentle, soothing touches. He could sense the yearning in your heart for something of more substance, something that you hoped desperately that he would fulfill, for he was the lone recipient of your unflagging love and adoration. And he was all too glad to entertain that longing, knowing that it would only draw you in to his influence that much more. 

Those nights were the ones you looked forward to most, when he would sweep you into his embrace with strong and capable arms and carry you back into the cistern with him. As he hefted you effortlessly through the intricate labyrinth of tunnels below the town you would become fixated on the way his eyes, golden and piercing, would glint so strikingly in the dark, like stars lightyears away that you were following to some fabled promised land beyond the horizon. You would find yourself warming from his touch alone, the sensation of his silken suit pressed flush against the color of your cheeks serving to further stoke a roaring fire of lust and passion within you. From there he would deposit you gently on the plush nest of pillows and other soft things he’d collected for you in his stagebox before positioning himself behind you and dwarfing your body with his hulking frame. He would hold you, would stroke your body with delicate, gloved hands, would whisper in your ear just how much you meant to him; how important and irreplaceable you were. He would pet your hair and admire your body in all its flaws and imperfections; because of them rather than in spite. He would make you giggle and laugh with his jokes, and then he would praise the sound of your voice. Oh yes, Pennywise could be sweet with his pet. After all, what kind of owner would he be if he didn’t reward such good behavior?

But oh, he was on a warpath now. By any indication, it would seem this was not a day for such gracious attentions. It was on days like this where Pennywise was particularly cruel with you. He would find you, he would push you down, he would take what he wanted. He would vent his frustrations in all the worst ways and then when he was done, he would leave you to recover on your own while he stalked off to sulk. But still, despite it all, you loved him, and you would take it without complaint. The days he was sweet were different, and they made up for everything else.

He growls as he scents you out, following the trail to your location with practiced ease. He thinks for a time on what he might do with you when he finds you. His mind is overcome with lewd, lascivious thoughts; of endless possibilities, ways he could alleviate his frustrations and refresh his mind before returning inevitably to the hunt. It is truly hunger of a different kind that consumes him in times like these, when all he can think of is one thing and one thing only, spurring him towards you with devilish, sinister intent. He wanted it; wanted to taste your fear, so sweet and fragrant compared to the savory scent of all the other sheep in the fold. Pennywise was the eater of worlds, the master of this shitty, cursed land, and he would get what he wanted, because he always did.

Except this time. He thinks on it, blind fury starting to overcome him again as he trudges ahead. He had been so close, and all for nothing. _If only his parents hadn’t shown up, and unwittingly whisked him away to safety in the nick of time. If only, if only…_ As he rounds the corner to your house he’s starting to feel the familiar pangs of hunger rumbling within his gut again. Needed to eat, needed to feed… But then he thinks of you. And then, just as quickly as it had gone, the anger had returned, roiling with his starvation to create a harrowing potion of grave contemplation. It overcomes him like a sickness and with thought he quickly deduces that you must be the cure. Yes. You were a fun little trifle, but you had begun to outlive your usefulness. He would find you, he would terrify you within an inch of your life, he would rip your skin open and devour you slowly. He would savor you, and let the salt of your fear linger on his tongue like a bittersweet remembrance, because you were different.

He knows you’re home. He knows every intimate detail of your day, your schedule; the times you were home and the times you were at work. He made it his business to know as much about you as possible, because that made it easier for him to use you. He slips silently past your front door, investigating the foyer of the house with silent poise and grace. It was approximately three in the afternoon and the air was beset with tranquil silence- This, he knew, was the most likely indication that you were off in your room taking a nap; you would do that sometimes after your shifts. He makes toward the second door on the left. He notices that the door is not fully closed; that it remains open just a touch, no doubt for the purpose of airflow. He snarls at the thought of you, a sleeping mouse blind to the hungry gaze of the skulking cat; snarls at the way you might squeak when he brandishes cruel, razor-sharp talons against your fragile skin and tears you open, the life draining from your hazel eyes as you favor him with a final look of absolute, heartbroken betrayal. He allows himself a little grin at the thought, no pity or consideration overtaking him now when he comes upon the threshold of your bedroom. With a beat of silence he makes his move, peeking through the door to assess you, his next chosen target.

But when his eyes fall upon your sleeping form, something curious happens inside of him. He can see you, curled up on your side, hugging a pillow to your chest. You’re breathing gently but he can see how your chest heaves ever so subtly, and when he looks closer he can see your eyes, red and puffy and agitated. You had been crying. The expression on his face softens into something more forgiving and he inches closer into the room to inspect you further. His eyes trail over you with an almost innocent scrutiny, trying to figure out the particular flavor of your distress as he looks you over. And then, before he knows it, before he can control it he’s crawling over you with all the spindly poise of a spider, positioning himself behind you as he’d done so many times before. It's almost ingrained in him, and as he gently pulls you toward him into the breadth of his chest you stir in his hold and wake to find him breathing over your shoulder.

“P-Penny..?” You mutter sleepily. “What’s… W-what’s…”

He peppers sweet kisses up your neck and onto your tear-stained cheeks.

“Shhh, my darling… Shhhhhhh….”

You can do little else but melt into his affections, finding it such a pleasant way to wake that you couldn’t possibly complain. He purrs into your neck and a storm of butterflies brews within your belly. This… Felt different.

You lean back into him and submit entirely to his ministrations, a fragile moan escaping your throat when he starts to whisper in your ear.

“Ohhhh, my darling, I could taste it… Your grief, your unease, your torment… You wished for Pennywise to come, and he didn’t hear… But he is here now, and you don’t have to cry anymore…”

Tears well in your eyes and he seems to sense it. He brushes them away with the thumb of his glove.

“Y-you’re the only thing that makes me feel better…” You sniffle, and he hugs you tighter. “Today was… S-so bad and… The only person I wanted to see at the end of it was y-you. I… I…”

“Shhhhhhh…”

There’s silence between you, a moment of mutual and silent contemplation. Then, you speak.

“...I... l-love you, Pennywise.”

And there it was. He smiles, stroking your hair tenderly. The words that your heart screamed, spoken aloud so earnestly. Your purest love and devotion, given to him like a gift for him to cherish, offering him something so precious that none of the others could ever hope to match. No, he wouldn’t kill you, _couldn’t_ kill you… 

“I know, my pet. I know…”

_You were different._

  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
